such as some fair spot by shady trees or near the point where the cross roads meet, and there, to the music of bagpipes, violin, or flute, fling themselves with hearty zest into the dance

The dancing pair that simply sought renown,

By holding out, to tire each other down

or compete in leaping, running, throwing the sledge-hammer, or the contests of the ball-court and the hurling field. All that is here alleged may be seen graphically described in Charles Kickham's tale, Knocknagow, or, The Homes of Tipperary, which is simply a photograph of an Irish hamlet in the humble happiness of its prosperous days, and its subsequent desolation by eviction. It may be justly called a prose rendering of "The Deserted Village."

It is, doubtless, objected that the line

And filled each pause the nightingale had made

shows that Goldsmith had England in view, where he was writing, as there are no nightingales in Ireland. To this objection a relative of Goldsmith's once replied that a similar argument would prove that Milton was in hell when he described Pandemonium. Goldsmith's knowledge of natural history was not accurate, and he may not have known, or may have forgotten, that the nightingale does not visit Ireland. Moreover, he might have used "nightingale " as the mere poetic term, and wished to designate by it the song-thrush, which floods the Irish woodlands with melody in the gloaming of summer evenings.

Goethe, whom Sainte Beuve and Matthew Arnold regarded as the greatest critic of all time, formed a judgment of "The Deserted Village" which is diametrically opposed to Macaulay's. Speaking of the poem he says: "The very thought of this picture is one of the happiest possible, when once the design is formed to invoke once more an innocent past with a graceful melancholy. And in this kindly endeavour how well has Goldsmith succeeded in every sense of the word! I shared the enthusiasm for this charming poem with Gotter." *

Nowadays, it were well if people would pause and reflect on the universal verdict that has crowned certain old books as the classics of our literature. By this verdict we are assured of the treasures of wisdom and pleasure to be found in those works— treasures which can in no wise be gained by readers who neglect them for the hot pursuit of novelty and sensation. So vast is the

*Truth and Poetry from my Own Life.

output of the modern press that it is impossible to read all that issues from it year by year, and, whether or not we set about forming a selection deliberately, a selection of some sort we must necessarily make. Self-interest counsels us to read the best literature that is extant, and not waste our time upon trash. One cannot, indeed, neglect the writings of modern authors, but our cherished friends should be those writers whose great and venerable names have been deemed worthy to be filed on Fame's eternal bead-roll. Goldsmith's reputation rests securely on The Vicar of Wakefield, The Traveller, and The Deserted Village, but he has left us much besides which is well worth reading, and from which the purest pleasure may be extracted. His Comedies, The Letters from a Citizen of the World, The Bee, and his Miscellaneous Essays charm us with their humour, their shrewd and kindly views of men and manners, their gentle satire, and their homely, warm-hearted sympathy. He is indeed an author to make us happier, wiser, and better men, and his pages, while they fill us with delight and admiration, inspire us of no other writer can we affirm the same to the same extent with a feeling of personal and lasting affection for himself.

M. W.

TO MY ANGEL

Angele Dei,

Ne taedeat te mei.

STILL with me, still with me, my Guardian most dear!
But ah! I have wearied your patience, I fear.

You have watched over me since my first feeble breath,
You will watch till these eyes close for ever in death.
But your care and my peril must now soon be past:
How near is the day God has fixed as my last?
Be with me, be with me, dear Angel, till then-
And oh how I'll thank you in heaven! Amen.

M. R.

HESTER'S HISTORY

A NOVEL

CHAPTER XVI

MISS JANET'S COMMUNICATIONS, AND A STORY OF A PASTY "A VERY nice girl, indeed," pronounced Lady Helen, "and does great credit to Mary's judgment. She is so well-bred she actually makes one look to one's manners. I am only afraid that her instep is too high, and her shoulders have too elegant a slope."

"I never heard that those were signs of delicacy," said Mrs. Hazeldean. "And I think she looks healthy, if not very robust."

Lady Helen opened her languid eyes. "How odd you are, Margaret," she said. "I did not speak of health. I mean that I am afraid she is too much of a lady."

"She is not above her work," put in Miss Janet, impelled by honesty to speak from her experience.

"She is not a fool, I can tell you," said Miss Madge.

These were some of the comments that were made upon Hester. Sir Archie, who was present when they began, suddenly left the room before they were finished.

There he goes!" cried Lady Helen, "not a bit changed since before he went away. I am sure there is something on his mind. He will read the papers; he will ponder and fret about the rebels. I have written to Mary about it. I can do no more."

The Honourable Madge began to hum. She was knotting a silk purse for her favourite Archie; and she gave herself a little rock in her chair after she had accomplished each knot. She began to hum snatches of an ancient doggrel of the glens, composed about one of Sir Archie's ancestors:

Archie Munroe! Archie Munroe !

Blessings go with you wherever you go!

"I do fear he is getting into trouble," mourned Lady Helen. Long may the blast of the war-bugle blow, Calling to battle brave Archie Munroe!

hummed the Honourable Madge in her little cracked voice. "Leave Archie to himself," said Mrs. Hazeldean, hastily,

"Not

raising her voice to drown the words of Madge's song.
one of us here is fit to advise him. He will act for the best."

"I wish you would hold your tongue, Madge," whimpered Lady Helen. "I don't think you would care if he were carried off from us to-morrow. And it's very easy for you to talk, Margaret, about his acting for the best, but I tell you that I have always been subject to presentiments."

Lady Helen's nostrils and lips began to quiver and Mrs. Hazeldean saw a rising storm of terror in her eyes. Therefore Hester was immediately sent for to take her ladyship's dimensions for a dress; which timely diversion of the nervous lady's thoughts was a godsend in its results to all the household.

"I shall ask you, Miss Cashel, to come with me and take a look over my wardrobe," said Lady Helen, rousing herself, with a sigh, to make the effort of encountering a frivolous necessity. "I am afraid you will be shocked at the state of neglect in which you will find it. Your nice ideas will be offended at seeing fashions six months old. For what with anxiety of mind, and the natural carelessness which steals upon one in a quiet place like this, I must own I have been neglectful of some of the duties of my state in life."

They accumulate, you see," said Lady Helen, looking round her with a victimised air, while Hester stood astonished, among rows of scarce-worn dresses. "The time will go on, and one's clothing must be renewed. Dresses will multiply, although I am so moderate. Queen Elizabeth had a dress for every day in the year, Miss Cashel. And yet she lived, you know, in comparatively a barbarous age."

Lady Helen put in that "you know" with an emphasis, and a manifest satisfaction, which showed how finely she appreciated the luxury of having a lady, who had probably read history, for her dressmaker.

When Hester went back to her tower room, carrying a load of finery in her arms, she found Miss Janet established at her fireside. A soft misty rain was drifting down the glen beyond the window. The world outside looked wrapped up in a rent white garment, some shaggy crowns of mountains, and some straggling arms of trees being here and there thrust through the ragged holes.

Miss Janet nodded at Hester when she entered, and went on warming her silk-shod feet at the pleasant glow in Hester's grate. She had picked out the most comfortable chair, and lay lazily backward, looking down upon Hester's busy movements. out of the dusky, half-shut corners of her saucy brown eyes, Had she been a trifle less impertinent, Hester might have felt

herself grow confused at such unexpected and continued observation. But the very excess of the rudeness made it seem folly to be disturbed by it. It was so plain, that the lady must be herself quite aware of it; and being thus aware, she must soon apologise and desist. Yet there was an uncomfortable feeling upon Hester that this proud Miss Janet Golden had taken an extraordinary dislike to her, was going to patronise her, and persecute her, and haunt her life, and trouble her. So thinking, but determined to be proof against little stings, she set forth her working materials, her box, and her little table, her reels of silk and her reels of thread, her scissors and her needlecase her bodkins and her thimbles; and she picked and she snipped, and she ripped out and she puckered in, with a very cheerful face, and Miss Janet looking on.

After a good long time, Miss Janet got up (Hester never minding), and came and stood before the seamstress, and remained there gazing and chafing, and gazing still and chafing more; and Hester still taking no notice of her, she suddenly caught up the mass of work-a delicate fabric of tulle and lace -and, wisping it up in her arms, sent it flying to the other end of the room, where it sank in a soft heap, and lay ignominiously in a corner.

"Nothing but

"Would you sit there till Doomsday, you contented thing! sewing, and sewing, and smiling to yourself? Would you? "Lady Helen's dress!" gasped Hester. "Dress! dress! dress!" cried Miss Janet. dress! Let it lie in the corner. It will do it good. I have been wanting to tell you something this hour, and you would not look up. I envy you, I admire you, I wish that we might be friends. I envy you, because you have got something to do, because you have not to go yawning about the house all the morning, falling asleep on all the couches, if lucky enough to be able to do it, and longing to pick out people's eyes, just for want of an occupation. I envy you, because you have not got everything you could wish for, because you look so pretty in that plain, plain gown, and were never in your life heaped up with gewgaws as I am. And I would like to be friends with you, because you know how to make me ashamed of my impudence; and you cannot believe what a new sensation that is. And I would also like to be friends with you, because you are a fresh natural thing, coming into this place where we are all of us oddities. of us oddities, I tell you. Sir Archie is an oddity of goodness; Lady Helen an oddity of silliness; Miss Madge in an oddity of oddness; and I am an oddity of discontentedness."

Hester felt a little giddy with surprise by this time; but, VOL. XXXVI.-No. 417.

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